Life Things
by madeinfrance
Summary: "One day, she wonders if it's the superhero she's fallen for, the white teeth, perfect smile, the honest and humble figure that is Superman. After all, almost everyone has, now." Clark x Lois, Man of Steel verse.


i. There's a lot of firsts for her, that year. Perry refuses to publish one of her stories, she actually considers leaving The Planet as a blackmail technique. She turns to Woodburn for help. She's taking in by the military, gets threatened of trahison, almost bleedsto death in the freezing cold of Canada. She goes to _Kansas,_ for crying out loud.

She also goes to space in an alien spaceship, falls from it and almost dies again, and oh, she meets the perfect guy. Kryptonian, it turns out. Somehow, that's not the most intriguing or exciting thing about him.

Not even close.

Of course, the first time she sees him, she thinks that's he's going to be the death of her – literally. Well, not the first time, exactly: the first time they meet, she realizes later, she thinks that his eyes are nice and that that morning beard suits him and damn, those _arms_. She thanks him for helping her out, warns him about the weight of her bags (how ironic) and gives him a smile she can't really help.

But the first time she _really_ sees him, face uncovered and clear gaze looking right at her, yeah: she does think her nosiness has finally gone too far and is going to get her killed. It doesn't.

(It never could, she would think later, her fingers gently running on his nape, his head burried in the crook of her neck. He's far too gentle to hurt anyone without hurting himself.)

It doesn't, and instead, it only marks the slow, unexpected fall of Lois Lane for an odd little farmer from Kansas.

Even her didn't see that one coming.

* * *

ii. She wasn't exactly the hugging type - never had been. When Lois was little and Ella Lane was still alive, maybe, but after that, not that much. The way she saw it, it was all about intimacy and comfort and love and caring.

Otherwise, it was just as useless as it was weird. No, thank you.

(Sure, there were boyfriends, including some that were way more involved that she was and who tried – to get closer, to stay longer. That only led to a few awkward attempts to break free whenever they tried to enlace her just because.

But it just wasn't her thing. It didn't mean much, anyway.)

And then, baboom - Clark Joseph Kent. Turning everything in her little world upside down without even knowing it, the innocent thing.

Including that particular trait.

The first time she hugs him – the first time it means something to her for the first time in a long, long time – it's chaos. It truly is, and the aftermath of it is so terrible, so heavy she feels like she can actually sense the weight of it on her shoulders as she watches him collapse on his knees. She runs to him, hesitating only slightly before his eyes meet hers and suddenly, all she wants to do, all she _needs_ to do is bring that wonderful, broken man to her and bring him as much comfort as she can.

So, she does. As he clings to her, Lois cups his cheek, his skin soft under her fingers, and swears to herself to protect him no matter what.

In the following days, she doesn't see him – Superman is all over the news, but Clark, nowhere to be found – and for the first time since her mom died, Lois finds herself craving for someone's contact. Because she misses him, somehow, because her city is in ruins and that affects even her, and because she needs a place where it feels like everything's going to be okay.

And now, that's him.

The feeling of comfort, of security, the tenderness – that's him.

(He does come back, eventually, comes back to her, and before he even says anything, she throws herself at him, and holds on tight.)

* * *

iii. The quality of her alimentation drastically improves, she starts to look up from her desk an awful lot, gets a new lunch pal, learns to steal last kisses right before the elevator doors open. Her Saturday nights are not what they used to be, and during one of them, she learns what a Rio carnaval celebration looks like from above – perched up on a Kryptonian chest, to be precise.

She's still not a dog person - not even a pet person, really - but she discovers a new found affection for Shelby. (Now that she thinks of it, she's not a fan of secluded Kansas corners, either, but Smallville wins her heart.) Her spare keys finally find a home. Her new favorite thing is to thread her fingers through dark curls as she reads, and he falls asleep, head on her chest and arms around her waist.

He becomes an entire part of her schedule, her life, her world.

She's okay with all of it.

* * *

iv. One day, she wonders if it's the superhero she's fallen for, the white teeth, perfect smile, the honest and humble figure that is Superman. After all, almost everyone has, now.

(Every other day, when she's waiting for her coffee, she overhears smitten teenagers gush all over how perfect and adorable he looks and " _Oh my God, have you seen those eyes? I just_ can't," and she hides her smile.)

But then there's his tired and barely waken face at the breakfast table, the endearing little scowl when he's annoyed, his stupid love for flannel shirts, the way he always chuckles watching Chaplin movies, and she realises that no - it's not that. It's not the cape she's fallen for, not the saviour, not the perfect American patriot.

It's Clark Kent.

* * *

v. When he dies, everything falls apart. It all seems unreal. It's heart breaking.

Those sentences are all you hear whenever someone tries to put grief into words, almost cliché, in a way, but she discovers they're all true.

It does fall apart. One second, everything's normal – bad, of course, the last couple of weeks have been very bad, but her life was still firmly in place - and then the next -

The next, the very center of her universe disappears, and takes with him any kind of stability, any kind of meaning there may have been in her life in such a sudden, such a violent and unexpecting way, it's almost impossible to believe, even days after, even with her empty bed and silent apartment screaming to her every day that it is.

It does feel unreal, though. It's kind of like a movie. She knows what's happened, she's seen it, she's lived it – she's held his lifeless body between her trembling hands, and still wakes up sobbing because of it. But whenever she tries to wrap her head around it, to tell herself that there's no hope anymore, that he's gone and can't come back, the embrace of death too tight to struggle out of, even for him, it does not feel real.

Because it can't end this way. After all, what kind of story finishes with the good guy dying? Not only dying, but dying in such a tragic, unfair, unselfish way, thinking that the whole world he loved so much hated him? He was a good man, the best she's ever known, and the idea that he doesn't deserve at least the right to live is outrageous.

And then, there's this feeling as well. Surely, it can't last forever – surely, one can't live forever feeling like their chest has been ripped apart it hurts so much, and that their heart has been walked on, broken, and then taken away, leaving nothing but a void. A cold, silent one.

An unbearable one.

Surely, this can only be a nightmare.

* * *

vi. The pity looks is what she gets the most. In the office, in Smallville, even in their building. (Well, _her_ building, now, probably.) Not a lot of people actually do come to tell her how sorry they are, how they understand, how wow, it must be so difficult.

It is. But they don't understand anything, and it takes everything she has to not yell it to them.

* * *

vii. Days turn into weeks, into a year. She doesn't cry, that day. They go to his grave, where even if there's no name and no man, they both know the flowers come from Bruce Wayne.

They're beautiful.

They stay for a while, and she holds Martha's hand, and squeezes it when she feels it starts shaking. The walk back to the farm is quiet. The next day, she gets back in her car, and, just as she leaves Kansas, she pulls over and starts sobbing.

A lot of things have changed. Small ones, big ones. She doesn't move, doesn't even alter a thing in the apartment, but the place is messier than it used to be. Eventually, his sense leaves the sheets, and everytime she crawls into bed, her insides tighten. There's no walk back home hand in hand after work anymore, no sleeping in on the week ends, no luring him to sleep with gentle strokes after Superman had too long of a day. No more watching his eyes dance with amusement as she hangs around his neck, and asks him to let her fly Air Kent.

All of that is gone, now.

No matter how much she prays, how much she begs, the nightmare doesn't stop.


End file.
